For Being Somewhere Else

April 10, 2020

 

 

Blackened breezes rustle
Sacred/ olive trees, skies muscled thick.
I took a sight that set me more lost
More sour than seasick.
I see him, knees bloodied,
Face drawn/ down
to earth.
I was being/ once/
Just a man also.
I spied/ by my back down
To my murk/
I cried/ by my own shadow,
But did not cry out,
To interrupt all that too intimate.

.

.

.

When I was a young/ more willful man,
I fasted/ from dawn Friday
Until the last of Easter/ Today
I’m past that/ I would if I could take the families
To the best Italian place,
For sacrificial lamb & blood red wine
& all before that, maybe Grace

 

rosa

photo- Alex Whitehouse-Hayward

CRUMBLED SOME

December 7, 2019

It’s more than a coincidence
That “pillow” rhymes/w “shadow”.
If I had to,
& the sense to know how,
I’d set the darkest dreams aside.
If I lied some, & thought those things
As tied up,
I’d fake it some, I’d hope some
For a wide enough merciful break,
& loosening rope,
& in this broken cup
I hold my spirits up.

“Very little grows on jagged rock/Be grounded/Be crumbled/So wildflowers will come up” -Rumi

cupstone

from “The Seventh Victim”

in honor of the (bad)Dreamland of Val Lewton

who blocked out such fear-laden imagery in his Noir

(OH  Chiaroscuro!) & also succeeded. I think, in blocking out that golden hour that film makers look for,near dusk,

when the light is just right to clearly convince us all, on film

“There’s Beauty, There’s Good, There’s Hope.”

.

.

.                                            HER  SHADOWS

When the time is right

The camera Artist  blocks out,

Frames, focuses, re crops,

To go  on his very own shadow chocked shot

Oh, he shapes the shadows for

Her, a  ruined running fear-filled fatale

who can only be, somehow logically, lured  into her shadows

(within an illogical hidden zoo)

Where at least one beast pursues her

fast footsteps,furiously echo just farther back in the dark

synchopated chasesteps/ high heels on one end of wet streets, & pursuit

.

She must be drawn to

She must be lured to

She must fold into

Saving Grace shadows

TO SEE GETHSEMANE

April 19, 2019

Blackened breezes rustle
Sacred/ olive trees, skies muscled thick.
I took a sight that set me more lost
More sour than seasick.
I see him, knees bloodied,
Face drawn/ down
to earth.
I was being/ once/
Just a man also.
I spied/ by my back down
To my murk/
I cried/ by my own shadow,
But did not cry out,
To interrupt all that too intimate.

.

.

.

When I was a young/ more willful man,
I fasted/ from dawn friday
Until the last of easter/ Today
I’m past that/ I take the families
To the best italian place,
For sacrificial lamb & blood red wine
& all before that, maybe grace.

.

.

.

 

A GOOD WORD PLEASE

February 7, 2019

All oncoming traffic headlit my shadows, just behind this parapet

No, that’s not the word, really

Not that word, a good word though

Like “peripatetic”   for me

You,  “peridot”.

.

Oncoming traffic’s shadows brush me rough

I’m tucked in a kinda cove  in some lemon grove

I’m sitting it out  for a breakout

Once the sun’s out

I’ll turn & make out for greener pastures

I’ll make up for  what they seen as grave errors.

 

F L I N T

August 30, 2018

In the “quiet time” the hospital designates

When visitors gotta go

Ok so I opened a Modelo

& vacuumed the space between the davenport

& the coffee table where you like us to eat

& dared some dreams of arson

Oh I sat easy enough at one half of a love seat

I wouldn’t want  to reread Kant

On  Duty  and  Obligation

I’d doubt he’d sway me

His hard ass way

The escape  dreams prefer are fire escapes

 

Go get only things you can carry

Stand up straight  Cast straight shadows

One effin  flick of flint

Can  brighten  bad  roads

 

 

alas

November 17, 2017

I say  “shudder to think”  is a gothic cliche’

But at times  all too accurate,

The  strictest  depiction,

When I would  shudder & shake some

As I stood  on my sidewalk  in lieless sun

With what I witness,   with what I thought

alas

 

There’s not  much white light

In the shadows I can cast

 

Still  and  night  wind/

And still standing in/ Deep in the shadow end/

Waiting in the wading pool To see my moon bounce to me some/

 

Wait!  At the airport bar the atmosphere swooned bountiful/

Maybe sating   metaphoring mating whoring fourth down plays/

Bountifully Enhanced  Last Chancing that face it,  basicly it’s too late not to dare/

Back here I’m not so rough, I swoon my own way, I tarry, and my moon’s enough

Jared French, Clinton, by PaJaMa

(photo credit/Jared French/ Clinton)

.

.mangata: reflection of the moon on the sea at night (Swedish)

 

 

SHE’S SHADOW SHY

February 28, 2017

 

She goes shy of the very shadows;

completely infused  in first section hard-copy news,

She peruses  column  leads,

Refusing all  too-sad reads.

Usually  my  views.

.

So sure you got some guy here who’s seriously shy

To fill skies with a gloom-jam  just eye-jabbed in.

It  can  kill a  guy.

But the goo you stand up against and

The two tons of blue mood  you face

Too often.   Too fierce  to soften & go.

This man here could not just stand there,

I know.

.

Though

She can’t relate

To the cinema  I saw so late

She says they blur  more black  than white.

She says they end not..just not right.

DARKEST POND

February 8, 2017

 

A late,  the too latest,  drive

Car thick  with ambient music

On  back  home

On back roads   I can come upon,

In deep,  way back,

The darkest pond,  I can  plumb

The darkest pond

I can Cool off

I can char

Edgy angular contours

In deep